Sirius Black and the Lion's Den
by Scoutette
Summary: Sirius Black's life has either started or ended. He can't tell which yet, and Lord Zonko's new Order of the Phoenix is making things more confusing. But when life gets hairy, friends stick by your side, while real friends teach you how to shave.


Sirius Black and the Lion's Den

SUMMARY: Sirius Black's life has either started or ended. He can't tell which yet, and Lord Zonko's new Order of the Phoenix is making things more confusing. But when life gets hairy, friends stick by your side, while real friends teach you how to shave.

WARNINGS: None, so far. The rating is for safety, and because I know my less than couture vocabulary, and slightly violent mindset. I'll keep you posted.

I have a history of procrastination, but most of my second chapter is already written, and my life has promised to slow down in a few days (but it's as bad with it's promises as I am) so we'll see what happens. At the very least, I can promise not to abandon this easily. It's been forcing my hands to write small drabbles for almost a year now, posting it is just a way of trying to force myself to finish it once and for all.

Please help me by being very very mean.

You heard me! Please rip this to shreds like Wolf-Remus with a grudge. Nothing that hasn't been insulted can ever get better. That's why I insult people on a daily basis. (Suurre...)

No, insults seriously do motivate me. Don't ask questions, I think it's my highly competitive spirit. (That's why I don't do sports)

* * *

><p>Remus Lupin opened his eyes, then quickly closed them. Whoever let that god-damned light in was going to die. Painfully. Burning. Like a Vampire exposed to the <em>sun<em>.

Teach them to leave curtains open.

In a few hours, Lupin might be able to forgive the heinous offense, but at the moment every part of him – mostly his head – _ached_, and he couldn't remember much of the last night. He had vaguely worrying memories of a blonde with ripped clothes.

Thinking too hard made Lupin's headache worst, and he was sure he could smell alcohol. It made him nauseous, so he threw up in a bucket next to him kindly left by someone who couldn't have also opened the curtain, and slumped back down to where he'd been laying when he woke up.

Not a real bed, just the floor, but his head hurt too much to even notice.

Face down on the floor, Lupin wheezed a chuckle. His post-moon thoughts sounded painfully alcoholic.

* * *

><p>"Lupin? Lupin! Where are you, boy? I could use you right now!" called Kausley Ginnon, proud and portly owner of The Fabled King.<p>

Remus Lupin, Ginnon's assistant poked his head out from behind a shelf of books. The Fabled King was a small book store with dusty tomes of medieval epics and other less known fictional books. Remus had been helping Ginnon run The Fabled King since he and his father moved to Greerwood five years ago.

"Sorry, Mr. Ginnon. I was re-organizing the 'O' section. The O'Neil family stopped by yesterday during your lunch break, they still insist that their great-grandfather is among these shelves, and you know how they get messy while they look."

Ginnon smiled at his assistant. Since day one Remus had been a hard worker, as in love with the mountains of books as Ginnon himself.

"Did you say you needed help with something?" Remus asked. Ginnon nodded, then pointed to the check-out counter where a man stood. Unlike most patrons at the counter, this man didn't have a stack of books under his arm, and didn't look misty-eyed with the thought of curling up to read like most people Remus checked out were.

The man was tall and thickly built, with graying brown hair but no smiling lines. Golden-brown eyes were sharpened in age and perpetual anger, giving him a hard and chiseled look.

Remus gasped at the slight of the man, whispering "Father," before hesitantly walking to him. "Is everything alright, Father?"

At hearing who the man was, Ginnon could guess why his assistant was nervous. For the four years Remus had been helping at The Fabled King, Ginnon had never caught sight of his elusive father. Remus had started coming by when he was six, walked in on his own everyday to roam the shelves until he turned seven and Ginnon dicorved from his wife and bit the little boy's head off for always roaming and never buying. In tears, the child had begged to be allowed to come back, and Ms. Wilkerson who was browsing a few rows over had ordered Ginnon to give Remus a job.

And so, four years later Remus was eleven years old and the unofficial second owner of the Fabled King, and the unadopted son Ginnon always wished for.

The absence of Mr. Lupin was what made Ginnon's unofficial adoption so easy. The Lupin family never showed, and Remus never spoke of them. Ginnon had always been too politely proud to ask, and eventually the idea of Remus even _having_ a family seemed more intangible and mythological than the stories inside the books he and Remus sold.

"Ya god'a ledda," Mr. Lupin grunted when Remus got close. Remus gasped, looking startled and hopeful, seeming to know exactly what letter his father was talking about.

"Really?" he asked in hopeful verification.

"Nah," Mr. Lupin grunted again. "Ah came all da way out '_ere_ ta mess wit ya. A course ya did, Loony. Na git home an' reply a' them, afor Ah send 'em a nice note sayin' they're wrong about yew, an' why."

Remus scampered out of the shop so fast he forgot to wish Ginnon a good day.

When Remus has first moved to Greerwood, he had realized that if he mother didn't want him, no one would. His father didn't seem to want him, and so far no one in Greerwood was wanting him either. He remembered a brother who had loved him, but he wasn't around anymore, so there was no one wanting him.

Hogwarts had no reason to want him.

But that was unacceptable, because if he didn't go to Hogwart's he'd live with his father in Greerwood for the rest of his life, or until someone found him out and they moved to another Greerwood.

Remus Lupin wasn't meant for Greerwood.

So he'd written Hogwarts a letter, telling them that _yes_, he was a werewolf, but he could be contained, really. He could be locked up and he could be healed, and he could keep it undercover. He could take the blame when things went south, and he could get up if he was pushed down. He would get up if he was sent out, but he would rather die now if he could never have a chance of getting in.

He wrote that he hated everything that had happened after that_ one moment_, and that if he didn't have any reason to think things would get better, then he wasn't going to stick around waiting for it. He wrote with the feble grammar and spelling he didn't know well enough, and the thoughts and questions he knew too well.

Then he sent them to the Deputy Headmistress, because he knew he wasn't good enough for the Headmaster.

And prayed he was good enough for Hogwarts.

Three months later, an owl had come at noon while his father was out. It had landed on Remus' bed, where he was bandaged from the last full moon. Remus had seen the Hogwart's symbol on the letter, and ripped it to shreds with post-werewolf adrenalin, that had none of Remus' human finesse.

Remus spent the next hour putting the pieces back together with shaking hands. It was worth it.

_ Mr. Remus Lupin,_

_ After reading your letter I have to agree that you would benefit greatly from an education._

_ Magical Creatures are not in out database of children to look at for acceptance, so I thank you for taking initiative in bettering yourself, your life, and your future. A confident and assertive attitude may take you far, Mr. Lupin, and I suggest you remember that in times of difficulty._

_ I will bring up your case with Headmaster Dumbledore to see what can be done about it. You will receive a Hogwart's letter a week after your birthday, in respect for the unfortunate date of the full moon and our sincerest hope to not disturb it either way._

_ Best of Wishes,_

_ Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,_

_ Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Now it was five years later, and Remus had taken that promise to heart. He had waited his time in Greerwood out in his own semblance of happiness. He'd gotten a job at a bookstore, and improved his linguistic skills by leaps and bounds. He'd been taken under the wing by Ginnon with only a small hitch, and been adopted as a grandchild by Ms. Wilkerson without any hitch. He'd stayed mostly out of his father's way. He'd been mostly okay with whatever the wolf dealt out. He'd been mostly satisfied with his life, but only because he knew that there was a Deputy Headmistress who may one day accept him.

Now, his Hogwart's letter had come.

Had Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall followed through? Had she talked to the Headmaster? Had he accepted Remus? Did he believe Remus could stay contained like he promised, or was he on the side of the rest of the world; that Magical Creatures were Light and Dark, Good and Bad, and Werewolves were Very Dark-Bad.

The Hogwart's letter that lay on the table would either be his suicide note, or his proof of existence. It was opened with shaking fingers that were careful _not_ to rip it to shreds.

_Mr. Remus Lupin,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

* * *

><p>Sirius Black opened his eyes, then quickly closed them. Whoever let that god-damned light in was going to die. Painfully. Torn to shreds. Like a Werewolf exposed to the moon.<p>

Teach them to leave curtains open.

In a few minutes, Black might be able to forgive the heinous offense, but at this moment every part of him – mostly his silky haired head – _ached_, and he couldn't remember much of last night. He had vaguely worrying memories of a house elf and ripped clothes.

Thinking too hard made Black's headache worst, and he was sure he could smell alcohol. It made him nauseous, so he threw up in a bucket next to him kindly left by someone who couldn't have also opened the curtain, and slumped back down to where he'd been laying when he woke up.

Not a real bed, just the floor, but his head hurt too much to even notice.

Face down on the floor, Black wheezed a chuckle. His post-family party thoughts sounded painfully alcoholic.

* * *

><p><em> "<em>Sirius!_ Sirius!_" A high pitched and nasally voice shrieked. Sirius Black groaned, woke up, and prepared to face the day.

A glance at the calendar surprised him. His eleventh birthday; the day his Hogwart's letter would come.

Sirius smiled to himself. Perhaps his semblance of happiness was about to be disrupted. He could take that, in face he thought he might even like it.

The Black Heir climbed out of bed, straightened his hair and clothes, and walked calmly downstairs. Real Sirius squirmed and wondered if he would die if he slid down the banister. The Black Heir sat down to eat his elf-prepared breakfast without a word. Real Sirius wondered why his mother had to screech at him if she wasn't even going to eat with him. The Black Heir left his dirty plate behind for the elves and walked to the sitting room for his lessons. Real Sirius thought is was rude to leave dirty plates behind, and snickered that he should lick them clean just to see the reaction. The Black Heir recited family history and Dark Magic theory to his Father.

Real Sirius crawled back to his jail in Sirius' soul, plotting the day he'd be let out.

The Black Heir had stopped questioning why he felt Real Sirius' pain.

It was just another day for Sirius Black, but there was an owl waiting with a letter at his spot that night, and a train seat waiting for him.

All he had to do was wait four months. Real Sirius had been waiting eleven years, and the Black Heir had been schooled in patience and grace. Four months was nothing.

What came next was everything.


End file.
